


Dark Reflection

by ShayneyL



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mirror Universe (Star Trek), Multi, Prompt Fic, Slavery, Whumptober 2020, shackles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShayneyL/pseuds/ShayneyL
Summary: Tom Paris is settled into his life as the favorite of B'Elanna Torres, head of the House of Krelik. Then he meets a wild Terran named Harry Kim...
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris, Harry Kim/Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres
Kudos: 15
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged rape/non-con because Mirror Universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Whumptober prompt #1, "shackles."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 

A kick landed in Tom's already bruised ribs, jolting him from sleep. "Get up," a familiar voice said.

Tom scrambled to his feet. He knew better than to keep B'Elanna waiting.

He was surprised she was up so early. They'd had a late night. She was not only awake, she was dressed to go out. Ornate leather and gold armor hugged her lithe body, and her thick, wavy hair was braided. "You are an odd one, Thomas," she said. "But you please me. We're going to the market. Be good, and I'll buy you a gift."

"Yes, Mistress," Tom said. "Thank you, Mistress." He was not enthused at the prospect of a gift. He'd learned long ago that the gifts his mistress gave were usually for her own pleasure, not his. But it would never do to say so.

Soon, they were at the market, surrounded by the typical commotion. Tom followed three paces behind his mistress, carrying two bags, one containing her personal items, one empty, for any purchases she might make.

To his relief, she passed the smith without a glance. His gift today would not be new shackles or chains. The jewelers' section and the leatherworkers were also ignored. No piercings or leather bonds, either. Tom was beginning to get curious.

B'Elanna kept going, to the far end of the market. The area where slaves were sold.

She stopped in front of a booth where a rainbow of Terran women were displayed. Girls, really — they looked very young. They were all very attractive, and they were arranged from lightest to darkest. Porcelain skin and platinum hair at one end, shading to ebony skin and jet hair at the other.

"See anything you like?" B'Elanna asked.

Tom stared at her in shock.

"I know you're lonely, Thomas," B'Elanna said. "Terrans are a social species. You need a companion, and I will buy you one."

"Thank you," Tom managed. He did not want a companion. Certainly not one of these poor girls.

"Look at this one ," the mistress said. She pointed to one near the left end, a girl with flaxen hair and vivid blue eyes. "She shares your coloring. The children would have your hair and eyes."

Tom gulped. As he suspected, the gift was not really for him. She wanted to breed him.

"No?" B'Elanna said, reading his expression. "Well, you are a good slave and I want to please you, Thomas. You may have your pick. Any you wish. Take your time." She went and sat under a shaded awning, where someone brought her a cool drink, leaving Tom to examine the merchandise.

Tom looked at the array of young women. None of them met his eyes. They were all lovely, but his stomach turned at what would become of them in the House of Krelik. Any woman he chose would be bred with him, whether they wished it or not.

Maybe he could put it off. Tell B'Elanna that none of the women appealed to him. No, she might be offended. He did not want to risk that. And the House of Krelik was not the worst place a Terran slave could wind up. B'Elanna was not as sadistic as many Klingons.

A commotion drew Tom from his thoughts. A Ferengi was yelling. "If you ever try to run away again, you'll be sorry you were ever born." He swung a fire whip at a bundle of rags which Tom realized was a person. Scrawny, dirty, ragged, but a person.

"Stop that," Tom said, before he had time to think. He hastily added, "Your master won't be happy that you're damaging the merchandise."

The Ferengi looked up. "What's it to you?" he asked. He gave his victim another blow. "You don't want this pathetic Terran. He's not good enough for the House of Krelik. He's wild, and needs to be broken before he'll be useful."

Tom stepped forward, grabbing the arm of the wretched creature, helping him up and stepping in front of him so the Ferengi couldn't hit him again. "We'll take him," Tom said, hoping B'Elanna wouldn't kill him for this.

She had noticed the disturbance, and came over. She stared at the slave Tom had chosen in disbelief. "Thomas," she said. "A male? And wild? This is not exactly what I had in mind."

"This is the one I want," Tom said. "You said I could have my pick, Mistress. I pick this one."

"Wouldn't you rather have a female? A pretty, healthy, clean, domesticated female."

"No, Mistress. I want this one."

"I didn't know your tastes ran this way."

Tom said nothing, keeping his head respectfully bowed.

B'Elanna heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Very well. I did tell you could have whichever one you wanted. But you'll be responsible for taming him. At least he should be cheap." She turned and began to haggle with the Ferengi.

The Ferengi had insisted on chaining their purchase, warning them he would try to run away. Stupid, if true. There was nowhere to go.

Ordered to clean up the new slave before allowing him in the house, Tom took him around to the back, where there was a sprayer usually used for watering the garden and washing fruits and vegetables.

"Can you speak? I'm Tom. What's your name?"

The new slave didn't answer. Either unable or unwilling to speak. The Ferengi said their new purchase could speak, but Tom wouldn't be surprised if that turned out to be a lie.

"Well, can I trust you if I remove these chains?" They were locked around the man's neck and wrists, and even though they were made of a very light alloy, they weren't comfortable. Tom knew that from experience.

The only reply was a smoldering glare.

Tom was starting to wonder if he was in over his head. This slave's temperament left much to be desired. Maybe that was normal for a wild Terran. "You know you can't get away," he said. "There's nowhere to go. Terrans can't leave Kessik without permission. And you've been chipped. Any scanner will show you're the property of the House of Krelik."

The new slave didn't answer, but tears welled up his dark eyes, and slipped silently down the dirty face. Tom suddenly realized his new acquisition might be a good deal younger than he'd originally thought.

"Come on, kid," Tom said. He unlocked the shackles and removed them.

Suddenly, the slave spoke. "Harry."

"What?"

"My name is Harry. I'm not a kid." So he could speak after all. His voice was pleasant enough by human standards. Klingons would find it too sweet and smooth.

Tom smiled. "Nice to meet you, Harry. How about you take off those dirty clothes?" They were really in bad shape. Probably should be incinerated, in case of vermin.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, backing away. He did not want to remove his clothes, disgusting as they were.

"It's okay," Tom said. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you won't be allowed in the house unless you wash, and you can't live in the garden." He added, "Don't you want to be clean?" when Harry still seemed reluctant.

Harry thought about that, then stripped off the filthy rags, and allowed Tom to spray him down. Tom handed him a bar of coarse soap, and Harry seemed to know what to do with it, scrubbing diligently.

The grime washed away, revealing someone who was surprisingly young and well-favored. Straight dark hair, Asian features, creamy skin under the bruises. Healed and fed, he'd be an asset to the House, Tom decided. Maybe Mistress B'Elanna wouldn't be too angry at this pick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Whumptober prompt #5, "failed escape."

"Wait here," Tom said. He went to get Harry some clothing to wear, and some other necessary items.

When he got back, Harry was gone. Tom wasn't worried. He couldn't get out of the compound. He put the supplies down on a bench, and went in search of the would-be runaway. Sure enough, he found Harry pulling at the side gate. In vain. It was securely locked.

"I told you, Harry, there's nowhere to go."

Harry jumped, startled. He gave up on the gate, and began running along the wall, looking for another escape.

"Oh, come on," Tom said, beginning to get really annoyed. He'd had a late night, was woken up early, and hadn't had breakfast yet. He was not in the mood for running around the garden.

The compound wasn't that big. The House of Krelik had an extensive estate, but the walled part of it was fairly compact. Rather than chase after Harry, Tom settled on the bench, and watched.

Eventually, Harry realized that none of the gates would open. Exhausted, he sank down by the side gate he'd originally tried. Tom got up, and went over to him.

Harry looked around wildly, searching for an escape. But of course, there was none.

"Give it up," Tom said. "Even if you somehow got out, an alarm would sound, and you wouldn't get far. Not to mention, you're naked. That would attract a little attention even without the alarm."

Harry's head dropped. He looked utterly bereft. Despite his annoyance, Tom felt sorry for him. "Now I know why that Ferengi insisted you be chained. Do I have to put the shackles back on?" It was an idle threat. Tom wouldn't be able to do that if Harry put up a fight. At least, not without help.

Harry glared defiantly for a moment, then slumped. He shook his head.

"Come on, you're all dirty again." It had been rainy, and the garden was a bit sloppy. He turned and went back to the water sprayer. After a moment, Harry followed. Tom turned the sprayer on him, rinsing off the mud. "Dry off. You can work on your great escape plan after you're dressed."

Harry eyed the towel Tom held out. "Take it, before you freeze," Tom said.

Harry did. Hesitantly, he dried himself off, watching Tom warily the entire time.

Tom took the towel back, folded it, and put it on a bench. "Sit," he said.

Harry did, though he didn't seem happy about it. His eyes widened when he saw the razor in Tom's hand. "I'm sorry I tried to escape," he said hurriedly.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to damage the mistress' property. Yet." Harry turned pale.

Tom immediately felt bad. He was, as his father often warned him, weak. The more terrified Harry was, the better. It would keep them both out of the trouble. But he found himself feeling pity for this kid, still so young he didn't need the razor for shaving. "It's all right," he said, against his better judgment. "I'm just going to cut the mats out of your hair." It had apparently been a long time since Harry's hair had been combed.

There weren't too many. Harry's slick, straight hair wasn't prone to matting. Tom used his own brush to smooth Harry's hair after the mats were clipped out, and he looked quite presentable. Except for the welts and bruises. He brought out the regenerator. Harry shied away from it, apparently thinking it was some sort of torture device.

"Relax, I'm just healing your wounds. Haven't you ever seen a regenerator before?"

Probably not, judging from the colorful mosaic of scrapes and bruises, from nearly healed to fresh.

"You're not going to beat me?" Harry said, staring in surprise as his skin healed under the regenerator.

Tom really wasn't the beating type, but it wouldn't do to let Harry know that. "I'm just going to assume you panicked and made a mistake. One you won't make again." He tried his best to sound threatening, though his heart really wasn't in it.

Harry looked so miserable Tom couldn't resist offering some reassurance. "Look, this place isn't so bad," Tom said. "Obey the rules, and you'll be treated well enough." Healing done, he handed Harry some clothing. It was Tom's own; he figured they were close enough in size.

The sleeves and pants had to be rolled up, and they were a bit loose, but they would do, Tom decided. Clean, healed, hair combed and glossy, if a bit shaggy and uneven — he was barely recognizable as the wretch they'd originally found at the market. "Come on, I'll introduce you," Tom said, and led Harry into the house.

It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, but Tom was confident he could wangle some food for Harry. He brought him to the kitchen, where the cook was at work. "Hi, Chell, this is Harry, our new acquisition."

The cook, a big Bolian, gave them a cursory look, and went back to chopping vegetables.

"We missed breakfast," Tom said.

"You'll live," Chell replied. He was surly at best.

"Come on, Chell," Tom said. "Look at how skinny he is. You know those Ferengi are too cheap to feed anyone properly."

"All right, all right." Chell dumped some of the chopped vegetables in a pan, and went digging around in the stasis unit. Before long he placed two bowls on the counter — each filled with a mix of warm grain, vegetables, and meat — along with some bottles of condiments.

Tom added some grapok and hot sauce, and dug in. Grumpy Chell might be, but he was an excellent cook. "Go on, it's good," he said, when Harry was still hesitant. "Chell won't poison you. At least not intentionally." Earning himself a scowl from the Bolian.

Harry finally picked up his spoon, and began eating like he hadn't eaten in weeks. He emptied his bowl in no time, and when Tom put half of his own food into Harry's bowl, he polished that off, too.

Chell was pleased. Nothing disarmed his surliness like appreciating his food. He cleared away the empty bowls, and brought Harry a plate of cookies and a moba fruit.

"Eat it, it's a rare delicacy," Tom said, eyeing the fruit a bit jealously. He snagged a cookie for himself, and was munching on it when Tuvok came in.

Tuvok was the chatelain of the House, probably here to take inventory of supplies and calculate what would be needed for the next month. An older, dark-skinned Vulcan, he showed no surprise at finding a stranger in the kitchen.

"Tuvok, this Harry," Tom said. "New acquisition."

"I have been informed," Tuvok said. "Additional food and clothing will be allotted for him. Since he is yours, he'll share your quarters."

Tom had been expecting that. As the favorite of Mistress B'Elanna, he was one of the few Terrans who had his own room. Those days were over. And he had only himself to blame. It was starting to sink in...he was stuck with Harry from now on. It had only been a couple of hours, but the kid had already proven himself trouble. Tom should have left him at the market. He should have been sterner with him when he tried to run away. 

His father was right. He was way too softhearted for his own good. Owen Paris would be very disappointed in his son.


End file.
